


Our Houses Bound Together

by senalishia, Zhie



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Art, Canon-Typical Violence, Dramatic Irony, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, mild Self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senalishia/pseuds/senalishia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: While Fëanáro is on trial for threatening Ñolofinwë's life, Nerdanel and Anairë come up with a plan. Perhaps the feud between their houses can be resolved by forging a marriage alliance between their children. Maitimo and Findecáno, already good friends, naturally volunteer. Now they must somehow untangle their sense of responsibility, their loyalty to their families, and their true feelings for each other.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 52
Kudos: 73
Collections: Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	1. The Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020. Fic by Senalishia, Art by Zhie.

Maitimo stood next to his mother at the edge of Máhanaxar and squeezed her hand in meager comfort. She must be feeling at least as much anguish and bewilderment as he was. 

As Mandos continued to call witnesses and hear testimony for hour after hour, it became clear that the true obstacle had been nothing less than Melkor's malice, and not only Fëanáro's pride and recklessness. Maitimo and Nerdanel had both worked themselves beyond their limits, for years, to prevent barbed words and bruised feelings from boiling over into outright violence. Perhaps they'd never stood a chance, but the failure grated nonetheless.

Based on the lines of questioning the Doomsman was pursuing, and the answers he received, Maitimo began to suspect that Fëanáro would not be held altogether blameless for his most egregious misdeeds. He glanced at his mother again. From the stark look on her face, he couldn't tell if she feared her husband's punishment, or craved it.

Anairë pushed toward them from further back in the crowd of onlookers. She stood in silence beside Nerdanel for several minutes, awash in the Vala's eldritch voice. Then she murmured, "We may wish to offer the Holy Ones our own thoughts on appropriate penance. They will do their best to be fair, but…"

Nerdanel nodded without looking at her sister-in-law. Both women, in their own way, had great respect for the Valar. But Maitimo knew from experience that the thoughts of the great Powers could be...strange. As much as the Children of Eru could not always understand them, neither could they fully understand the Children, or what was best for them. One might wonder if this whole mess had started because of their decree that no elf ought to have more than one living spouse.

Anairë probably believed that her own husband, as the victim, would not be judged too harshly for his part in the past long-year of growing strife. But how could she be certain? She herself, for that matter, had played no small part in unwittingly spreading what had now been revealed as Melkor's lies. Maitimo doubted he could have done more to rein his father in short of physically binding him, but the Valar were not guaranteed to agree. Both families would benefit if they could credibly signal their commitment to ending this feud.

"Did you have something particular in mind?" Nerdanel whispered back. She turned her gaze across the Circle of Doom to where Ñolofinwë and Fëanáro stood, one deferentially respectful, the other fiercely defiant. "I would understand if Ñolofinwë expected some sort of...recompense."

Anairë pursed her lips. "He wants what he's always wanted--for his older brother to love him. He's ready to forgive _everything--_ " She obviously had her own feelings on the matter, for which Maitimo could hardly blame her.

Maitimo missed what his mother said in reply, as Mandos dismissed his current witness, turned in their direction and intoned, " **We call for questioning Nelyafinwë Maitimo**." Maitimo stepped forward, bowed, and approached the center of the Ring of Doom, forcing down the flutter of anxiety in his belly.

Mandos's questions swung between the artfully incisive and the incomprehensibly unpredictable. Maitimo answered each one to the best of his ability: above all truthfully, but also giving his family the benefit of the doubt whenever possible, constantly aware of his father's burning gaze. Every time he glanced toward his mother, she and Anairë had their heads together, presumably discussing their plan to nudge the Valar toward something a little more palatable. He could not hear them, and his focus was so fully on the Vala in front of him that he could not guess what they were saying.

Finally, Mandos extracted his measure of answers from Maitimo and dismissed him; Maitimo could not judge the Vala’s reaction but hoped he had acquitted himself well. He took his place next to his mother again. Some, but not all, of his brothers were called up for questioning afterward. He winced as Carnistir spoke with his usual surliness, showing no heed for the gravity of the situation; he felt his mother grasp his hand once more as Pityo, not even a hundred years old yet, stood in the circle, voice trembling.

After hours yet longer, the last witness finally staggered away. Mandos, radiating majesty and authority, turned to Ñolofinwë and Fëanáro, to take their final statements and declare judgement.

Anairë had not been wrong. Ñolofinwë announced his willingness to forgive all crimes against him, and apologize for any he may have committed. Fëanáro received his words in cold silence.

Then, just as Mandos seemed about to pronounce his doom, he instead turned to face Anairë. " **Have you aught more to say, devoted child?** " he asked.

Anairë visibly collected herself, and curtsied low before she began to speak. "Almighty Judge, as you have discovered, this misfortune was not entirely of our own making; yet neither are any of us totally innocent. Before any punishment is deemed, we would beg to be allowed to mend the rift between our houses ourselves. I have taken this opportunity to speak with my dear friend Nerdanel. She has agreed that, as proof of our dedication and to forge a permanent link between our two families, we might arrange for a member of each of our households to be promised to each other in marriage."

Maitimo's thoughts exploded. The plan was sound. Although bonding two houses through marriage was now mostly a lip-service, pretty words sprinkled over a happy betrothal, it had been deadly serious in the ancient days before they had come to Valinor, when familial bonds were all that stood between clans of Elves and Melkor's terrors. The symbolism would be obvious for all to see. If Mandos approved, it just might work.

But who exactly would be offered up?

Slowly, ponderously, the titanic Vala nodded in accession. “ **We shall hold our doom in abeyance, for now. Let us see if the wisdom of the** **Ñoldor can be relied upon to deliver justice.** ”

Maitimo’s stomach turned uneasily. That sounded like a very conditional sort of acceptance. At the same time, a wild hope, too long caged, began to flutter frantically in his heart. He fought to quell it. They would need to discuss this as a family first.

And his father did not look pleased.

* * *

Findecáno paced the great square, waiting for news. He'd been charged with keeping the peace among the few who had remained in Tirion. But all those most likely to cause trouble had gone up to Valimar for the trial, and there was little for him to do.

He'd been in denial, until it was too late, about how bad the feud had become. He'd believed that, no matter what anyone else said or did, no matter what kind of scuffles their respective followers got into, as long as the two families’ eldest sons were still friends, there couldn't be anything to worry about.

That had been a mistake, but surely the friendship was still real? He trusted that Maitimo had not, would not deceive him. And regardless of this latest, shocking act of aggression by Fëanáro, Findecáno's feelings toward Maitimo had not changed either.

The instant he heard hoofbeats on pavement, he sprinted for the western gate. His father and mother and siblings rode into town with their cohort streaming in behind them; Fëanáro and his contingent were nowhere to be seen, nor was the King. His family's expressions were various degrees of anxious and displeased; if the matter had been resolved, it had not been entirely to their satisfaction.

“I’ll tell you everything once we’ve had a chance to settle in at home,” his mother told him as he walked alongside her horse; by the way she looked at him, 'everything' included quite a lot.

Findecáno did his best not to pester any of them too much with his impatience, regardless of the intriguing whispers he began to hear almost immediately from their retainers. Eventually his parents summoned the family together in their parlor in the palace. His father and mother took turns laying out the bare bones of the hours-long inquest; his siblings occasionally inserted their own commentary.

"Melkor," Findecáno hissed when that Vala’s involvement came out. He had tried so hard to have faith in the Valar when Melkor had been released from his imprisonment, even if it had seemed a dangerous folly. Was his faith misplaced? Was releasing Melkor a necessary justice even if the consequences were bad? Was this one of those philosophical puzzles Maitimo liked to ponder over so much?

His mother still had much to tell, and it wasn't the time to ask. "Melkor was not entirely to blame, however," she continued. "The Valar agree that if we had been more pure of heart, _yes, both sides,_ " as Turucáno opened his mouth, "it never could have come to this. Therefore, it is up to us to prove to them that we intend to heal the relationship between our families."

By the looks on his siblings' faces, they already knew how she intended to provide that proof. His father said with evident pride, "Your mother made the suggestion, which Mandos accepted, that we ought to arrange a marriage between one of our children, and one of Fëanáro's.”

"Hold on, does it have to be boy-girl?" Irissë demanded as Findecáno's head was still reeling from the revelation.

"I don't believe it's necessary to be quite that old-fashioned, even if it is a rather old-fashioned solution," Ñolofinwë replied. 

"Thank Nessa," Irissë muttered. "Not that I'm not willing to do my part for the good of the family, of course, and Nerdanel did some _damn_ fine work on some of those sons--"

"Language," Anairë chastened with a glare.

"--but it would be nice if it didn't _have_ to be me," Irissë concluded.

"No, it won't. We'll be meeting with them tomorrow to come to a final agreement," said Ñolofinwë, "but I thought it would be advisable to speak among ourselves first and come to them with a few ideas about what we would find best."

For a moment, no one spoke.

"So," Aracáno said, his eyes darting between his parents and the floor, "Mother, I know you tried your best to introduce me to someone who would make a good spouse. And I’m sorry I could never have the sort of feelings for any of them that...well, you know, like Turucáno and Elenwë. But maybe I just didn’t give it enough time? Anyway, I get along alright with their twins, and if you needed me to, I could…" He trailed off into a shrug.

"Nerdanel won't let the twins do it, they're too young," said Anairë with a shake of her head.

"They're of age, and besides, Aracáno's not much older," Irissë said.

"Aracáno is also too young," Ñolofinwë said firmly. Aracáno, for all his willingness to volunteer for the family cause, looked relieved.

"They're going to offer Maitimo," Findecáno predicted. As soon as he said it, it was obvious.

"You think so?" questioned Turucáno.

Findecáno nodded. It wasn’t only a sudden, wild hope that fueled his reasoning. "Telvo and Pityo are too young, as Mother said. Curufinwë's already married. Carnistir will refuse. Tyelcormo will volunteer, but the rest won’t let him do it because they're worried he'll cock everything up."

" _Language_."

"Apologies, Mother. They might put Macalaurë forward as a second option if one of us is particularly interested, but Maitimo will want to do this personally if possible, just so he can make sure nothing goes wrong." He knew it. He knew Maitimo. Why did he feel he needed this to be true like he needed to breathe?

"Then I’m out," said Irissë immediately. "I'd do it for Tyelcormo, _maybe_ Macalaurë, he's at least good looking. Maitimo might be the prettiest, but he's _so boring._ I'd be trying to sneak away in the middle of the night within a year."

"He, ah, would probably prefer a husband anyway," said Findecáno, resisting the urge to correct his sister on how interesting Maitimo could be. "Don't worry, I'll do it. We're good friends already. I have no doubt we can make it work."

* * *

"This is an insult to our entire house. I would rather leave Tirion, nay, leave Valinor entirely, than submit to this--this so-called judgement!" Fëanáro raged. Maitimo didn’t think he meant it. He was actually taking this better than Maitimo expected.

"But who can you guarantee would join you?" Nerdanel asked coolly. She’d gathered the whole family around their kitchen table and clearly had no intention of releasing them until they’d worked something out, no matter how hot tempers became.

Fëanáro glared at her but did not immediately answer. "I...appreciate...that you did this for my benefit, but it is too great a sacrifice to make just to appease the Valar. Each elf is only allowed one spouse, _they're very particular about that_ _as you might recall_ , and I will not have one of my children throw away their only chance, in all the eons of Arda, of finding love, on--on one of _them_. You give the tyrants on Taniquetil this, next they'll set their sights on the Silmarils."

Nerdanel was wise enough not to be distracted by the subject of the jewels her husband guarded with such jealousy. "Anairë and I never intended to force our children into a loveless marriage without their consent. This isn’t supposed to be a great sacrifice at all. We just thought that--well, it would be convenient, wouldn’t it? We each have quite a few children, and there's a decent chance at least one pair among them should be compatible enough."

"There are eighteen possible couple combinations if you don't count me or Turucáno," Curufinwë observed idly, " _and_ if you totally ignore gender preference. Whether that's a large enough sample size depends on what you think the prior probability is of any two elves randomly selected constituting a workable marriage. Personally, I--"

"You're already safely out of the running," Tyelcormo snapped, "so maybe stop speculating and have a little pity for those of us for whom this is an actual risk to our love lives and not just a theoretical mathematics exercise."

"The odds might not be that bad,” Macalaurë interjected. “I read a monograph by Laurëfindil last week on the nature of souls and how they relate to one another, and I think he might have had the right of it when he said that the most important factor in a successful marriage is to love and respect _yourself_. By that criterion, we ought to have more than enough--"

"Do you think if Aracáno and I got married, he would agree to go our separate ways afterward and pretend it never happened?" Carnistir mused aloud as Macalaurë continued expounding on the compatibility of souls.

Pityafinwë frowned. "Maybe? He never seemed that keen on the idea of marriage in general. But if you did that, would it really count?"

“Well, _obviously_ we would consummate it--”

"I don't think it would count," Telufinwë agreed.

"Now, boys," said Nerdanel, "remember, we'll need to consult with Ñolofinwë's family before we--" 

"I'll do it," said Maitimo, not loud, but with enough finality to pierce through the chaos of the conversation.

Everyone drifted to silence, and their eyes turned to him.

"Maitimo, are you sure?" his mother asked with concern. "I don't want you to feel like you have to, just because…" Just because being the oldest of seven had left him with an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. She knew him well.

"Hmh. You always were the best at making nice with them," Fëanáro groused. Pejorative tone aside, it wasn't even an untrue statement. For years, Maitimo had worked to prevent--well, delay--a true rift tearing open between the families, accentuating good feelings and downplaying offenses wherever possible.

"You think Findecáno will…?" Macalaurë wondered.

Maitmo intended to say 'I hope so', but at the last second he couldn't bring himself to do it.

* * *

Findecáno couldn't tell how much tension really was echoing between the rest of the participants in this meeting, and how much was his imagination. His mother stayed carefully neutral-faced, his father attempted mild pleasant politeness. Nerdanel bore a gracious smile that seemed only a little forced, while Fëanáro…was Fëanáro. Findecáno had it on good authority that he was capable of making expressions other than slight disdain, but none of Indis's descendants had ever seen him do so. 

They met in something close to neutral territory, a public garden on the south side of Tirion. Neither party brought any additional hangers-on, just the prospective betrothed and their parents. Findecáno’s heart jolted when he saw that his guess about Maitimo volunteering himself had been correct, but his excitement was doused once he got a good look at Maitimo's stony face. As soon as Maitimo noticed someone was looking, he blossomed into a smile of genial goodwill. It made him even more beautiful than usual, but it was hard to watch when Findecáno knew it to be false.

Nerdanel and Anairë exchanged “so glad to see you here”s and “thank you so much for coming”s. Maitimo greeted Ñolofinwë with a shower of flowery words conveying gratitude and a touch of humility without actually mentioning any particular grievance that might put Maitimo’s family in a position to apologize. Findecáno endured Fëanáro’s volcanic glare and decided that silence was the best way not to antagonize him further.

“If you intend to continue acting out this farce, let’s get it over with.” Fëanáro growled finally.

“So,” Nerdanel started, gesturing to Findecáno, “Findecáno, you’ve decided you want to be the one to give this a try? Maitimo, dear, I believe that--?” She looked to her son for some sort of response.

“It’s exactly what I hoped for,” said Maitimio with a grin, and Findecáno couldn’t tell whether that was the truth or a carefully spun politeness.

“I told them all it would be you,” Findecáno replied. “I couldn’t be happier to be right.” He hoped Maitimo could tell he meant it.

“Well I’m glad that’s so easily settled,” said Ñolofinwë, with perhaps a touch too much confidence.

“Yes, congratulations to you both,” Fëanáro sounded anything but sincere.

“How much time do you think we’ll need to get everything prepared for the betrothal feast?” Nerdanel asked.

Anairë sighed. “If I wanted to do it properly, I’d ask for months, at least. But I suppose it wouldn’t look good if we delayed for too long, would it.” She grimaced. “Two weeks? Three? At the very least, we’ll need time to obtain rings, and betrothal gifts.”

That provoked an outright huff and a sneer from Fëanáro. No doubt there was nothing Findecáno's parents could provide that would be up to his prospective father-in-law’s standards.

“We could aim for Valanya, two and a half weeks from now? Would that be enough time?” Nerdanel suggested.

“It will have to be,” Anairë conceded. Findecáno could only imagine how busy she was about to be, spending every hour from now until then planning the perfect celebration.

“So we’re all agreed?” Nerdanel confirmed, looking at those assembled for any sign of dissent. She turned to Findecáno and Maitimo in turn. “I want to hear both of you say it out loud. You really want to marry each other? Even if it’s partly for the greater good?”

“Of course, Mother,” Maitimo said instantly.

“Yes. I’m happy to be able to serve in this way.” Findecáno said, then shook his head. He made it sound like a noble self-sacrifice--that wasn’t what he’d meant at all.

Nerdanel pursed her lips when she looked at him, but only said. “Very well.” Fëanáro tensed and seemed about to speak, but his wife elbowed him in the ribs and he mercifully held his tongue.

“Well, if that’s agreed, perhaps we should give these two a little time alone to talk things over?” Anairë suggested. Nerdanel nodded, took her husband by the hand, and led him away as he glared one last time at Findecáno and his family. Anairë leaned in to give Findecáno a hug, then ambled off arm in arm with Ñolofinwë.

Maitimo’s face fell once more the instant their parents were out of sight. “Findecáno, I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll find a way to get you out of this.”

Findecáno flinched back as if he’d been slapped. “I’m glad you find me so eminently marriageable,” he grumbled. That didn’t even come close to expressing how he actually felt, but he could hardly articulate what those feelings were to himself, and besides, more than anything he didn’t want to get into a fight with Maitimo right now.

“That’s not--” For a moment, Maitimo looked genuinely at a loss. “You have to know I have no objection to you personally. But I care about you, and that’s why--”

“I’m really fine with it. I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t.” Something occurred to Findecáno. “If _you_ don’t--” Findecáno would be disappointed, sure, more keenly than he would have expected for something he hadn’t even conceived of yesterday morning. But he was no more willing to see his friend trapped like that than Maitimo was.

Maitimo carelessly waved a well-formed hand. “This is mostly for my family’s benefit, however considerately your mother might downplay that fact. Of course I’d rather everything go exactly as planned.“ That didn’t exactly sound like ‘yes, I really do want to marry you, Findecáno’, but maybe he was still working through his feelings too. “But I won’t have you sacrifice your happiness as well.”

“I’m not--I don’t think so, anyway. I already like you, consider you a good friend. And--” was it too early to broach the topic? “--I mean, you’re not exactly unattractive.” 

Maitimo closed his eyes and took a breath. “I’ll keep thinking of a solution--some way to release you without the Valar coming down on our heads.” he insisted. “You deserve to have a choice.”

Findecáno huffed in frustration. “I’m not a child, Maitimo. You don’t need to protect me from my own decisions.” As usual, something was going on in Maitimo’s head, playing out far faster than Findecáno could follow. Maybe Maitimo foresaw future problems that Findecáno didn’t, but he had no right to assume what Findecáno really wanted. “I don’t want to see your family in trouble any more than you do. And I--it just doesn’t sound so bad, spending my life with you. So if you want to stay this course, for whatever reason, then let’s just focus on making this relationship work, all right?”

Maitimo shook his head. “Sure,” he said with no real conviction. He reached out for a moment, then thought better of it and pulled back his hand, leaving Findecáno floundering. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said, and turned and walked away before Findecáno could stop him.


	2. The Feast

"Curvo,” Maitimo practically pled. “You’re aware this isn’t a normal betrothal. All our fates could turn on this. Surely you must have some insight into what he’s working on?”

Maitimo's mother had forbidden him from helping with the logistics of his own betrothal feast beyond a few questions about decorations and menu preferences, but she was elbow deep in it herself at all hours. His father would have made himself more of a nuisance than she would have the energy to deal with if she didn’t set him to covering the betrothal gift. And his father could not be trusted to simply make something well suited to Findecáno as a gesture of goodwill. And he'd locked himself away in the forge for the past two days.

"He doesn't actually tell me everything, Nelyo," Curufinwë responded with more bitterness than Maitimo had expected.

Right. He had gotten so used to thinking of Curufinwë as the favorite, the one who always had their father’s trust. But Fëanáro had trusted no one but himself in the making of the Silmarils, and their relationship had...drifted since then. “Yes. I realize that. I--apologize.” But Curufinwë still knew more than he was telling. Maitimo had to make it worth his while. He sincerely softened his tone. “He’s really barricaded himself in there. Has it been harder to make progress on that, what, clockwork thing you were working on?” He could always count on his brother to want to talk about his own projects.

Curufinwë sighed. “Oh, you know, I’ve got most of it set up in the workshop at my house already. It’s more suited for it, and Tyelperinquar’s getting to the age where he’s actually able to make a real contribution sometimes.” Curufinwë’s face brightened a bit with paternal pride. “I mostly come here to scrounge for supplies every now and then.”

Maitimo held very still, and let him keep talking.

“If you really must know, Father did ask me to source another few hundred carats of assorted-size rubies yesterday. I can’t say exactly what he’s done with the ones we already had. Normal corundum has no particular affinity for any kind of useful magic--at least not the kind you would put on a betrothal gift. Unless he’s come up with some kind of exciting new application since he did Ercassë’s, which is entirely possible.” Another frustrated sigh. 

“Thank you,” said Maitimo softly.

“Yes, well if you’re done picking my brain, I have errands of my own to attend to.”

Maitimo let him go. He had never known anything different, so he could be wrong, but he couldn’t imagine that every family spent so much time and energy  _ managing  _ each other.

Rubies, and maybe some new sort of magic, wasn’t much to go on, but it didn’t fill him with confidence either. This was why it was so frustrating to see Findecáno so cavalierly optimistic about this marriage. Didn’t he know what he was getting himself into? As much as it hurt, Maitimo resolved to do his best not to encourage him any further. 

If he was lucky, his father would emerge for long enough that Maitimo could cast the silver betrothal ring he’d designed. At least he’d managed to convince his parents to let him handle that part.

* * *

“Very well,” Anairë only capitulated to letting Findecáno help set up for the banquet when the day drew so near that there were things that very well might not get done without one more pair of hands. “Carry those boxes to the main hall and make sure Irissë knows they’ve arrived.” She indicated with a nod a stack of boxes filled with floral centerpieces, then rushed off with her own arms full of wall hangings.

Findecáno dutifully did as he was instructed, setting the boxes down and tapping his sister on the shoulder to let her know they were there. Before he could leave to find another task that needed doing, she grabbed him by the arm.

“Hey.” She locked eyes with him, uncharacteristically serious. “Tell me the truth. Are you alright? With--all this?”

Findecáno ducked his head and chuckled a bit. It was nice, in a way, to have everyone so concerned for his well-being. “I am, I promise.”

“Because if you ever feel like you’re being forced--”

“I really don’t! Must I swear it?”

“No! I just want to be sure. I can’t imagine being trapped like that. I know it’s not like you and him hate each other or anything, but...”

“No, well, that’s just it, right? For as long as we’ve known each other, through everything that’s happened, we’ve been--what anyone might call ‘friends’. We liked being around each other, enjoyed each other’s company, had some good times together. And I was-- _ aware _ that he was attractive? But in the way you might know any fact about someone. And then Mother says ‘How would you feel about marrying him?’ and all of a sudden it’s,” he physically groped for adequate words, “oh Eru, he’s  _ attractive _ , and he’s kind, and strong-willed, and courageous, and--”

“Uh-huh,” said Irissë, her eyebrows rising.

“And it’s like choirs of Maiar going off in my head, and this huge feeling, like he’s the only thing I’ve ever really wanted in my entire life, like I can’t possibly survive without him, and I can’t imagine how in Arda I’d never realized it before.” 

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Eonwë, Varda and Manwë, I believe you! No one can fake being that sappy. Stop before you get any of it on me.” She gave him a playful shove. “And I suppose he’s out there inflicting the same on his own brothers?”

Findecáno felt his ardor collapse back in on itself. “He--all he’s really said is that he’s worried about  _ me _ , the same way you were. I’m sure he still  _ cares  _ about me, I just don’t know if--” He didn’t want to speak his fear out into Eä for fear of adding it to the Song.

“Oh--well--” She seemed to force her smile a little wider than she had to. “I’m sure it’ll work out. You’re just about the most lovable person in existence, and this is coming from your  _ younger sister _ . It’s going to be fine.”

Findecáno nodded, and thanked her, but as he ran off for more boxes, he couldn’t help but worry.

* * *

Thanks to many people’s hard work, the great hall of the palace of Tirion looked even more resplendent than usual. The air hung with the fragrance of fresh flowers and the delectable feast before them. The finest candles illuminated walls conspicuously decorated with the heraldry of both houses in equal measure.

From his seat at the high table, Maitimo kept a watchful eye on the crowd of guests. So far, everyone was content to enjoy the superb food and wine, and no one seemed inclined to start any  _ trouble _ . Anairë, after spending two days driving herself to her wits’ end, had finally and with profuse apologies handed the seating chart over to him to finalize. He had attempted, given the spirit of the event, to mingle his father’s people with Ñolofinwë’s, while keeping the ones most likely to butt heads separated from each other. So far, it appeared he had succeeded.

Even his brothers were largely behaving themselves. Macalaurë and Curufinwë brandished their best manners out of general principle, while Curufinwë’s wife Ercassë, still overawed after half a century of participating in royal functions, wouldn’t dream of acting out of turn. She didn’t notice Tyelcormo teaching his nephew all sorts of mildly impolite things one could get up to at a high feast, which irritated Carnistir enough to distract him from antagonizing Angaráto. Pityafinwë was trying to flirt with a pretty boy at one of the lower tables, and if Telufinwë was left feeling somewhat neglected by his twin, that was the least of their problems.

Once their hunger had been well and truly sated, the true purpose of the gathering began. Maitimo could only hope they would get through the rest of the night without any of his fears coming to reality. 

Anairë was the first to speak. “My friends, I am so pleased that you are here to join us on this joyous occasion. As a parent, our greatest wish is for our children to exceed us in wisdom and virtue. For the past several years, the tensions among us have been a great burden on us all. It fills my heart with joy to see my son choose to reach across that gap and close it with love.” Everyone applauded and raised their glasses. Love? Was that what they were going to pretend was going on here? Maitimo glanced at Findecáno, who seemed as delighted as the rest of them.

Anairë yielded the floor to her husband. “Maitimo, of all of Fëanáro’s sons--” Ñolofinwë paused, glanced over to the other side of the table, and seemed to rethink what he was about to say. “Maitimo, I’ve always been impressed with your upright character and your talent for diplomacy. You seem to be able to find a way for everyone to come out thinking they got the best of a deal.” If that was what he went down in history as being known for, he supposed he could do worse. “You have been an invaluable gift to the people of the Ñoldor your whole life, and I can hardly express my pleasure and gratitude at having this opportunity to bring our families closer together in this way.” He reached for a small jewel-box on the table beside him. “I hope you will accept this small token of our affection for you, and our hope for a blessed and happy marriage in the future.” 

Ñolofinwë opened the box and drew out a chain that appeared at first to be copper but on closer inspection was some sort of rose-gold, on which was suspended an elaborately etched setting containing a cabochoned piece of amber. Maitimo stood and bowed his head to receive it. It looked like Vanyarin work, excelling more in the realm of artistic creativity than technical skill. Not surprising; there wasn’t a Ñoldorin artisan in Tirion that he knew of who would submit to having their work compared side by side with Fëanáro’s in a situation like this. 

Maitimo smiled and thanked Ñolofinwë and Anairë warmly and took his seat once more. Nerdanel stood next, looking slightly nervous. She didn’t enjoy speaking in front of crowds; he didn’t expect her to say more than a few words, as she had at Curufinwë and Ercassë’s betrothal.

“I couldn’t add more to the...the magnanimous sentiments that have already been expressed,” she started. “We are indeed very grateful for the honor you’ve shown us, Findecáno, in electing to join with our family in this way. I hope that--” she glanced around at each member of her family, “--that we will all be capable of returning that honor and making you feel welcome among us.” Maitimo hoped that as well. They hadn't always shown the utmost kindness when Findecáno was only Maitmio’s friend and Ñolofinwë’s son; how would their behavior change once he was an in-law?

Nerdanel took her seat and finally, Fëanáro himself arose. One would like to think that the guests had already been giving the other speakers their full attention, but the room became noticeably quieter. “I’d like to thank you for joining us here today,” he began, as if he were the first one to speak, “that is, if you feel your presence here is out of a sense of obligation, and conversely, if you’ve enjoyed yourselves so far, you’re welcome.” That got a laugh. He continued in this genial vein for some minutes. For someone who put so little effort into his personal relationships, he’d certainly learned the tricks for wooing crowds. 

Maitimo could tell by the subtle change in his expression halfway through that, though his words remained genial, he was _ up to something _ . “A great wrong was done that caused our houses to become enemies. I will admit this. For many years I thought this rift irreconcilable, even under the threats the Valar chose to hang over our heads. But now, thanks to our dear wives’ intervention, I at last see an opportunity to in some small way rectify the evil perpetrated by my father’s second marriage.”

Oh  _ Eru _ . This was going to be worse than Maitimo anticipated.

The necklace now draped over Fëanáro’s hands was an ostentatious thing of gold and, yes, the rubies Curufinwë had mentioned, multiple tiers of chains and gems cascading down.. “I hope you like it. It is, I think, a trinket suitable for the spouse of a prince.”

As Findecáno allowed Fëanáro to clasp the thing around his neck, Maitimo felt an odd tug at his memory. He almost dismissed it--his father was far too proud an artist to ever duplicate his own work, much less someone else's. But Maitimo was not in the habit of dismissing his instincts, and the nagging confusion piqued his suspicion.

His stomach did somersaults as the realization hit him. The painting hanging in the main hall of Fëanáro’s house--the one Maitimo had seen nearly every day of his life growing up. In it, his grandmother Miriel wore a nearly identical necklace.

The only difference, Maitimo could see as Findecáno sat back down next to him, was the eight-pointed star motif repeated over and over and over again.

Findecáno tilted his head. “Maitimo?” he murmured. He smiled almost ruefully. “Is it a bit much?” he asked softly as the crowd toasted their happiness one more time. ”How often do you think I’ll have to wear it to keep him happy? I’m afraid it doesn’t quite suit my style.”

He didn’t get it. He didn’t seem nearly as bothered as Maitimo himself had no choice but to be. Perhaps that was a small mercy. Ñolofinwë, by his grimace, had definitely noticed. Fëanáro had as much as declared victory in the question of succession that had been the bitterest kernel of their feud.

Maitimo could hardly keep his attention on the task in front of him as he and Findecáno exchanged betrothal rings. At least Findecáno seemed genuinely pleased by the one Maitimo gave him. The ring Maitimo received was engraved with a pattern of birch leaves, calling back to one of their first outings together in a gesture that nearly brought tears to his eyes. How could he let someone so trusting and forthright be part of a mess like this?

As the dancing and music carried on into the night, the talk started as well. Those loyal to Ñolofinwë had picked up on their lord’s mood and were beginning to throw shady glances at their favorite erstwhile rivals on the Fëanárian side. There was far less intermingling than anyone--except perhaps Fëanáro--had hoped for, as groups of allies began forming up into cliques once more. Of Arafinwë’s house, only Findaráto deigned to congratulate him personally, the others remaining carefully aloof. He did see Tyelcormo convince Irissë to dance with him (completely out of time with the music), which was a good sign. Overall, though, Maitimo had a lot of work ahead of him if the sacrifice of Findecáno’s romantic freedom was going to do any good at all.

He did his best, weaving throughout the party with Findecáno at his side, nudging people together from opposite factions who he thought might still get along. If Findecáno felt neglected by his now-fiancé, he was suppressing the feeling admirably.

Finally, as the first hints of gold began to tinge the silver light outside, the hall gradually emptied and the guests made their way home. When Anairë began orchestrating clean-up and Maitimo thought they wouldn’t be missed, he took the opportunity to pull Findecáno out into one of the ornamental gardens for a quiet word.

“Findecáno, I don’t know how to apologize enough--you must believe I had no idea my father would do something so--so-- It was absolutely uncalled for.”

Findecáno reached up and put a hand on Maitimo's shoulder, and Maitimo had to fight the urge to flinch back. It had been a normal enough gesture between them before, but every touch was fraught with extra meaning these days. “I know. It does seem to have set this whole scheme back a bit, hasn’t it?” He laughed softly.

“I’m serious. You don’t belong to him; you’re not some  _ thing  _ that he can trade a jewel for and lock up in his treasury. ”

Findecáno gazed up at him. “Certainly not. I’d belong to you, which isn’t nearly--” Maitimo must have visibly reacted; Findecáno shook his head. “Nevermind. Your father does not scare me, Maitimo.”

“He should. He can’t be controlled, he can’t be predicted, and he can’t be trusted.” Now more than ever, Maitimo and his family couldn’t afford for this betrothal to fall apart--and yet how could he allow Findecáno to walk willingly into the nightmare that was his family? 

“How about this--I will go and visit your family, try and get to know them a bit better, without you there to protect me. You can visit mine at the same time. I’m sure we’ll find a way to survive each other. And if we don’t--well, then I’ll know, won’t I?”

Maitimo sighed. If this was what it took--Findecáno was certainly going to find out why this marriage was a terrible idea for him. Once he realized where Maitimo came from, Maitimo promised himself he would find a way to keep him out of it.


	3. The Visit

Findecáno knocked firmly but politely on the door of Fëanáro’s house and waited to be acknowledged. It had taken Maitimo nearly five weeks to prepare enough to feel comfortable letting Findecáno visit his family unaccompanied. Findecáno still thought he was worrying too much. Regardless of what had transpired between his father and Fëanáro, he didn’t think he was in any physical danger coming here, and nothing else really frightened him. Maitimo was one of those people, like Findecáno's mother, who got so wrapped up in who was saying what about who, who wore what and where. But none of it really mattered, did it? If he got out of tonight alive, he would at least have some good stories to tell. He hoped he might also understand Maitimo a little better afterward. If he was lucky, Maitimo had confided his feelings to at least one of his brothers, even those that he hadn’t yet shared with his betrothed. Findecáno hoped he would come out of this meeting feeling a little less in the dark.

Nerdanel answered the door promptly, with a broad smile. “Findecáno, we’re so glad to see you here! Please, come in.”

She glanced over her shoulder as she allowed him to enter, and Findecáno could see more than one of Maitimo’s brothers hovering just around one corner or another. He’d never known most of them to be shy or retiring, and wondered how much of a talking to Maitimo or their mother had given them beforehand.

“Dinner is nearly ready, if you don’t mind waiting in the parlor for just a few minutes,” she was telling him as they walked.

He didn't fully see any of the brothers until he arrived at a small, haphazardly decorated sitting room (nothing like the tastefully appointed furnishings Findecáno's mother would have insisted on; it looked, rather charmingly, like it had gradually filled up with every foray into crafting the boys had produced as they grew up.) Macalaurë and Tyelcormo waited there.

"I'll come get you when everything's ready. It shouldn't take long." Nerdanel gave her sons a Look before she left that clearly enjoined them to be on their best hosting behavior.

"Thank you again for inviting me into your home," Findecáno said once more, having been similarly lectured by his own mother before coming.

He thought he caught an eyeroll from Tyelcormo, but Macalaurë nodded and replied, "Of course. You're nearly our newest brother. We're happy to have you."

From a normal prospective in-law, it would be a perfectly ordinary pleasantry, but after what Maitimo had explained about Fëanáro's words at the betrothal feast, it made Findecáno tense for a moment.

But that was no excuse to be taciturn. “I’m a little intimidated to become part of such a talented group.” he admitted jovially. “I saw the performance you gave last week of  _ Silver and Gold _ , Macalaurë. I don’t think there was a dry eye in the audience by the time you were done.”

Macalaurë nodded, and seemed genuinely gratified by the praise. “You play a little, don’t you?”

“Only thanks to my mother. I enjoy music, but I wouldn’t have put twenty years into learning the harp if she hadn’t insisted on a well-rounded education.”

“Do you understand what I mean, then, when I ask what you thought of the key modulation going into the final movement?”

Barely. Were they already testing him, or was this just how they made conversation? “I can say...that…” he spurred his brain to think of something intelligent to say, “...it was surprising enough to be interesting, without being disruptive. The kind of thing that you can appreciate with both your heart and your head.”

“A fascinating analysis,” Macalaurë replied. Findecáno was pretty sure he was being humored, but it didn’t bother him as long as the conversation carried on pleasantly.

“Are you really in love with him?” Tyelcormo asked bluntly. 

“W--I--” Findecáno didn’t know quite how honest to be. His feelings were still...complicated.

Before he could reply properly, Tyelcormo continued, “He’s been driving himself mad over this whole mess, for Valar knows what reason--but it’s important to him. Is he going to regret it?”

Findecáno sighed and bit his lip. He was pretty sure he  _ was  _ in love with Maitimo, but was Maitimo in love with him? Tyelcormo seemed to think the marriage itself was important to his brother, but was there anything more than that? 

“I--I don’t want him to regret anything. I want him to be happy,” Findecáno admitted. “If he--”

That was the moment Nerdanel poked her head in. “All right--everything’s ready. If you’ll follow me?”

As they walked through the darkened main hall, Findecáno caught a glimpse of the portrait of Miriel that Maitimo had mentioned. She really was wearing a nearly perfect twin of Findecáno’s betrothal gift, only all in silver and white gems.

“I hope you don’t mind if we keep things a bit more informal,” Nerdanel was saying. “I ultimately decided that there’s no use trying to pretend to be what we’re not. This will really give you a better idea of what things are usually like around here.”

“I don’t mind at all. I’m grateful for your honesty.” Findecáno had plenty of reasons besides his feelings for Maitimo to want this betrothal to succeed; he didn’t need his future in-laws to go out of their way to impress him. It was certainly a change, though, despite their equally royal status.

She led him to a smaller dining room off the kitchen, where the rest of Maitimo’s brothers, as well as Curufin’s wife Ercassë and young Tyelperinquar, were seated. Findecáno could see no sign of Fëanáro.

Nerdanel took a seat at one end of the table and offered Findecáno a place to her right. Delicious smells wafted from the dishes arrayed on the table as he sat down.

“Once again, I’m sure we’d all like to thank Findecáno,” Nerdanel began, “for being so kind as to join--ah.” Her face fell as her sons began to fill plates without further invitation. She sighed. “Findecáno, just--make yourself at home,” she said with a wave of her hand.

None of this would have been the least bit acceptable at  _ his  _ house. It was actually rather delightful. The food tasted as good as it smelled; he didn’t have  _ many  _ dislikes, but by fortune or careful scheming, none of them made an appearance. 

Several conversations erupted around him as soon as he began to eat. Ercassë was apparently working on some sort of project on Macalauë’s behalf, which she had nearly finished. She worked in tile, if Findecáno remembered correctly; it sounded like she was working on a mosaic for a new amphitheater. Tyelperinquar excitedly told Tyelcormo about everything he’d done the past week and asked if he could play with Huan later; Tyelcormo assured his nephew that Huan would love nothing better. Curufinwë and his youngest brothers quickly devolved into a heated discussion of some newly-published scientific results.

“No, it  _ does _ , Ramáriel's paper said that Yavanna  _ told  _ her it’s supposed to work the same,” one of the twins insisted, gesturing emphatically with a fork. Findecáno had thought he could tell the two apart--Pityafinwë was more outgoing, Telufinwë a bit more shy and hesitant to speak up--but apparently that difference didn’t apply at home. “Hey--you’ve been out to Hyarmendor, haven’t you?” the twin asked, turning toward Findecáno.

“He has a name, Ambarussa,” Nerdanel chided. The way she called them both the same didn’t help at all.

“Sorry. Findecáno--”

“The word of a Vala is  _ not  _ a substitute for proper experimentation,” Curufinwë sneered even as Findecáno opened his mouth to answer.

“Yes, I have been that far south,” Findecáno answered as soon as he saw an opportunity. “About half a long-year ago, I spent a couple years there. Learning how to track the native animals, mostly.”

“And would you say that the composite flowers there showed the same tendency toward biphasic dendrotropism as the ones in Valimar?” 

“Well--” He had to double check that he knew what all of those words meant. “Unfortunately, I didn’t pay too much attention to--”

“That’s just an anecdote, Telvo!” Curufinwë objected. “ _ Not _ data.”

Findecáno made a quick mental note--Telufinwë at the far end, Pityafinwë across the table next to Carnistir. Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard one word from Carnistir all evening. His mother’s strict training in including everyone in the conversation would not let that stand. 

He filed through his brain for anything about Carnistir’s recent activities and came up with almost nothing--at least nothing recent. He apparently didn’t socialize much with anyone, or at least not anyone Findecáno knew.

Well, that was what the Quendi had invented words for, wasn’t it? “Carnistir, I’ve barely heard a word from you all evening. What have you been getting up to lately?”

Slowly, Carnistir turned his gaze in Findecáno’s direction and silently leveled a chilly stare at him. One would think Findecáno had asked him to reveal the secret of how the Silmarils were created. “Business,” he replied.

Findecáno’s instinct to politely draw him out of his shell warred with Carnistir’s obvious lack of desire to do so. He finally gave up and was about to try to get more information out of Tyelcormo about Maitimo’s feelings, when movement at the room’s entrance caught his eye.

It was Fëanáro, finally making his appearance. He looked to have just come from the forge, his clothes covered in fine dust and his hair pulled back in a single tail. He gazed over those seated at the table, settling unnervingly on Findecáno.

“Was that today?” he asked flatly.

“Yes,” Nerdanel replied in a clipped tone. “That was today.”

“Hm.” He pulled up a chair across the table from Findecáno and began to serve himself food, then turned to Curufinwë. “Your opinion?” 

Curufinwë flicked his gaze over Findecáno. “He tries. We’ll have to teach him to pronounce words properly, but I don’t think he’ll be a problem.”

Fëanáro nodded. Findecáno couldn’t quite figure out how to respond as they discussed him as if he wasn’t there. Nerdanel pursed her lips and wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Findecáno decided to escape while no disaster had yet befallen, and declined to linger much after dessert had been served. 

When he was nearly back to his own house, he met Maitimo going the other way. It almost seemed like Maitimo hoped for a second that he would not be seen, but he smiled easily enough when Findecáno approached him.

“So, how did it go?” Findecáno asked first.

“It was...nice. Very nice. Everything was just a bit less intense, I enjoyed that. Maybe it’s just down to fewer numbers. And you?” He couldn’t hide the touch of anxiety that tinged his words.

Findecáno answered him honestly, “I don’t think I ever quite found my footing, but it didn’t go too badly. Did you know that everyone in your family is absolutely brilliant? I could hardly keep up!”

Maitimo’s expression softened affectionately. “They are. I hope they didn’t make you feel inadequate.”

“No! They refused to hold themselves back for my sake, and how can I blame them for that?” Findecáno hesitated before adding, “Tyelcormo wanted to know my true intentions toward you. I told him that I just wanted you to be happy.” Findecáno looked up at Maitimo, whose face was unreadable. “Which--that is--well, it’s true, and I hope you--” He sighed and gave up. “I hope you are. I really do. Good night.” And Findecáno took his leave before he could make the mistake of trying to guess what Maitimo was thinking right now.

* * *

Findecáno and Maitimo made numerous public appearances as a couple at various events over the next half a year, dutifully fulfilling the true purpose of their betrothal. Outside of these mandatory meetings, Maitimo tried to allow Findecáno some space for himself, even when he desperately wished he could just spend time with his friend again, like they used to.

But as the mingling of the lights approached near the end of the New Year festival, Findecáno actually took him by the hand before he could slip away, and dragged him to a quiet, out of the way corner.

“Maitimo, is something wrong? Are you angry with me?” Findecáno asked without preamble. “ _ Please _ be honest with me for once.”

That stung his conscience a little. Maitimo had never exactly intended to  _ deceive  _ Findecáno by hiding his feelings. He’d just curated which ones he expressed, when and in whose presence he thought it would be most expedient. But looking back, he supposed he could understand how that looked from Findecáno’s point of view. Maitimo had wanted to shield Findecáno from the pressure of knowing how he felt, but he supposed ‘neutral’ wasn’t exactly something one could or should be with regard to one’s fiancé.

“I…” All his carefully honed diplomatic skills were failing him. How could he accede to Findecáno’s demand for honesty while still keeping his emotions from having undue influence? Findecáno knew his tricks, and would not  _ want  _ to be diplomatized. “I’m not angry. You’ve done nothing wrong.” That answered the immediate question, and was completely true. 

But Findecáno’s pursed lips and furrowed brow clearly said he was not satisfied. “Then why are you avoiding me? We’ve barely spoken two words to each other in the past twelve weeks that wasn’t in front of an audience! I…” He took a deep breath. “I miss you. I miss  _ us _ .”

“I do too,” Maitimo admitted before he could stop himself. 

“I almost want to say we would have gotten along better if we never got betrothed in the first place,” and didn’t that make Maitimo’s stomach twist with a conflicting knot of emotions. “But then we’d just have other problems, wouldn’t we, with my father and your father and everyone picking sides, and…” He sighed defeatedly.

“Our friendship would have been hard pressed if the Valar had imposed some harsher punishment, some proscription or banishment, on my family.” Maitimo agreed. “But at least we wouldn’t be trying to turn this relationship into something it isn’t.” A lie, but perhaps a necessary one.

Maitimo immediately wished he could take it back, as he saw the beginnings of tears in Findecáno’s eyes. “Something it isn’t? You really don’t think… think we could ever…?

Oh, no. Did Findecáno  _ want  _ this betrothal to be real? How could Maitimo ever live up to that? How was he supposed to protect the heart that was dearer to him than his own? “I think...this is hardly the ideal situation in which to make that sort of transition. Such things rarely work out well if they’re forced.”

“Forced…?” Findecáno took a shuddering breath. “Maitimo, maybe I haven’t been as clear as I could be about my feelings either, and that’s a mistake I can rectify right now.  _ I love you _ , Maitimo.” Hearing him say it out landed like a blow to Maitimo’s chest. “Yes, in the ‘getting married’ way; Aracáno and I have had a lot of conversations about this. I’m sorry you apparently don’t feel the same way, and I’m grateful that you’ve been so considerate as to remain betrothed to me anyway. But I cannot allow you to have any doubt about the way I feel for you. I love you, and I plan to love you until the end of Arda.”

“You can’t know that,” Maitimo said quietly. It was almost physically painful, the knowledge that such a kind, valiant, noble soul by some miracle existed as a note in Eru’s song, and loved him. Maitimo feared with a foreboding verging on foresight that he would one day no longer be worthy of that love.

“It is a promise I am making to you right now, and an oath I intend to swear if you’ll let me.”

“I don’t doubt your faithfulness, Findecáno. But..things change. People change. What deeds might be done in those Ages to come that will bring pain to the ones I love? Will you love me then?”

Findecáno’s expression melted into purest pity, and before Maitimo could back away, Findecáno wrapped his arms around Maitimo’s waist and lay his head on his chest. The closeness of him ignited a feeling so warm and soothing that he couldn’t find the willpower to push Findecáno away. “Always. Forever. And if it is a dark path you fear, I will drag you back to me with my own two hands if I have to.”

Findecáno’s intentions were nothing but virtuous, but Maitimo feared that he lacked the imagination to envision the truly horrendous possibilities. Sometimes people changed, and you had to let them go. Maitimo would rip his own bleeding heart from Findecáno’s grip before he dragged Findecáno down with him. But he hated to ruin that innocence now. “All right. I believe you.” He needed to move before he became so comfortable with this physical contact that he could no longer give it up.

Instead, he remained still as Findecáno raised a hand and stroked his cheek. The sensation made his whole body tingle like the bubbles of a fine sparkling wine. “You should. Sometimes I don’t think you appreciate yourself properly, Maitimo.”

He probably meant that Maitimo rightfully ignored all the praise thrown his way due to nothing more than his rank, beauty, and charisma. “You like me for my level-headed realism.” Damn, that almost sounded flirtatious. He really needed to stop leading Findecáno on by remaining in this embrace. They must almost look like a real betrothed couple--and a scandalously forward one at that. 

He put his own hand over Findecáno’s but didn’t remove it as he had intended. Instead, he squeezed that hand and then curled his other around the back of Findecáno’s neck. When the top of his thumb brushed against Findecáno’s neatly braided hair, the jolt of nervous energy only caused him to pull Findecáno in tighter.

He had to reject this. He couldn’t live without this. Findecáno was obviously no help, his soft, lovely mouth half-parted in captivated joy. 

Maitimo ignored every instinct screaming at him to stop, leaned down, and pressed his lips to Findecáno’s. In that instant, the rapture suffusing him would have been worth any cost.

He regretted it the instant he pulled away. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered, and fled.

* * *

Findecáno stalked toward the outskirts of the city, taking narrow, little-used streets to avoid being seen by anyone who might ask about the tears flowing down his face. He couldn't bear having to either implicate Maitimo, or defend him, neither of which he felt emotionally capable of just now.

By the time he reached the point where the Calacirya began to slope back into the Pelori, his tears of frustration were giving way to anger. He slammed his fist into the bark of an innocent, unsuspecting tree; the resulting pain was only a shadow of what was tearing up his insides.

Why did Maitimo have to be so confusing? Findecáno had insisted that they talk to each other so that they could clear things up, and for a moment he’d thought they were getting somewhere, that they understood each other. Maitimo had  _ kissed _ him, and oh, if he lost everything dear to him and kept even the memory of that kiss, he would be well supplied with happiness. And then Maitimo had  _ apologized  _ and run off?

Findecáno wanted to believe that the kiss was the truth and the running off the ruse, but how could he know for sure? Maitimo was not wrong that the circumstances of their betrothal, the outside demands on both of them, made everything more complicated than if they were just following their own desires. As much as Findecáno wanted the infighting among the Ñoldor to stop, the pressure must be even worse for Maitimo. Fëanáro above any of them risked the Valar's wrath, for baring steel in hostility toward another.

Findecáno hit the poor tree again, leaving his knuckles bloody, then muttered a prayer of apology to Yavanna for abusing her creations. Of course Maitimo felt obligated to pretend he wanted this betrothal. Findecáno, in his selfish need to lay bare all his emotions, might have driven Maitimo to a place he was not ready for, might never have wanted to go in the first place.

It did seem to make sense, when he thought about it with a clearer head. Throughout this entire ordeal, all Maitimo’s talk had been about how he was worried about Findecáno, how Findecáno didn’t need to sacrifice himself. But of course that had always been Maitimo’s way. It had taken decades of friendship before Findecáno had realized that Maitimo was constitutionally incapable of ever asking someone else to do something for  _ him _ . Being the eldest of seven brothers--especially  _ those  _ brothers--would have that effect, he supposed. If Maitimo had no desire to turn this into a real romance, and was only doing this for his family’s sake--what then?

The thought that this might not end in the serendipitous wedding and blissful marriage that he had hoped for did break Findecáno’s heart a little, he had to admit. But the idea of being eternally bound to someone who longed to escape--that sickened him even more. So, what? If he suspected that Maitimo’s heart was not truly committed, should he just break it off, save Maitimo the pain and loss of face of having to do it himself?

No. When Maitimo had been ready to release Findecáno for his own good, Findecáno had demanded to be allowed to decide for himself, and Maitimo deserved the same respect in return. Findecáno wouldn't destroy this whole plan on his beloved's behalf until he knew for sure that was what he wanted. Findecáno had made his own feelings perfectly clear. It was up to Maitimo to make the final decision.

But he could make it easier for him, couldn’t he? Findecáno hadn’t realized that anything in life could be this difficult. But he resolved to say no more on the subject of his own feelings. He didn’t need to put more pressure on Maitimo or make this harder than it needed to be. He could be kind, courteous, helpful, and friendly, and absolutely no more than that. He hoped it would be enough.


	4. The Wedding

Maitimo sat at his dressing table in a guest room of the palace on the morning of his wedding. His mother had already come by to help with his makeup and hair, and left him to see to the final touches and have a few moments of contemplation. He toyed listlessly with the jewels and ornaments spread out before him, wondering if he should just put on his usual copper circlet or if the occasion demanded something fancier. He honestly couldn’t bring himself to care.

It seemed like Findecáno had, over the last few weeks leading up to this day, finally comprehended what Maitimo had been trying so hard to get through to him. They would do their duty to their families, but that didn’t mean Findecáno had to pretend in private that any of this was real. Oh, Findecáno was still perfectly polite and amiable, when they saw each other. But he hadn’t said anything further about ‘love’. He hadn’t mention the--the _kiss_ , or pressed any further about physical affection in general.

Maitimo refused to allow himself to feel disappointed or bereft. Findecáno never owed him that, and if he had finally come to his senses, so much the better. They hadn’t yet committed to each other. There was still time for him to back out. And if he did go through with it? They could always be good friends. Each of them could still live full, satisfying lives, apart from being able to take a spouse truly of their choosing--

\--not that he would ever have chosen anyone else--

As he grappled with the full force of this realization, as it rose up to strangle him, there was a swift, sharp knock at his door. Before he could either invite or refuse, his father entered the room and took a seat next to him. “How--how are you doing?” Fëanáro asked awkwardly.

Maitimo couldn’t help but smile through his inner turmoil. His father could give speeches that swayed crowds of thousands, but he was terrible at talking about feelings in person. “I’m ready.” What else could he say?

“I’m glad to hear it. You know I would have been perfectly happy to take whatever the Valar had to throw at me, but--” He grimaced and seemed to realize for once that this was not the time. “If you love Ñolofinwë’s son, and this is the way you’ve chosen to smooth things over with them, then...then you have my gratitude.”

How could his father, who only noticed anything about anyone when it would give him some advantage over them, for once be right for all the wrong reasons? “I...I do love him.” He could be honest for once, knowing his father had no use for gossip and it would likely never leave this room. “I love him, and I hope that he can forgive me for what I’m about to do.”

His father gave him an odd look. “You are getting married, aren’t you?”

“Yes. That’s all.” He let it drop.

“Well, the reason I wanted to see you while you were still prettying yourself up, is this,” He reached for a flat, black lockbox that Maitimo had only subconsciously noticed him set on the table when he entered. It looked suspiciously familiar. It couldn’t be...could it? “My purpose in life has always been to create. To see all that is beautiful in Arda and then surpass it. I like to think I’ve succeeded more than once. Let’s see if I can outdo myself today, shall we?”

Fëanáro opened the case and Laurelin’s early rays through the window were drowned by the full light of Mingling radiating from the gems inside. Maitimo’s heart hammered as he allowed his father to drape the fine chain across his brow, in which were set the Silmarils.

He knew that half of the reason his father would do this was just to show off his superiority one last time to Ñolofinwë and his family. But surely he also wanted to do something to show his love for his son on his wedding day, and sharing his most prized possessions was the greatest gesture he could think of. “Thank you.”

“There,” Fëanáro sat back and admired his son with a self-satisfied smile. Maitimo couldn’t begrudge him too much. “You look absolutely resplendent.” He stood, and patted Maitimo on the back before heading to the door. “I’ll see you soon, my son.”

The intense glow made it difficult to even look at himself in the mirror to judge the effect, and his judgement of his own looks had always been indifferent at best, anyway. He turned the political ramifications over in his mind for a bit but couldn’t see a reason to worry too much. Who could blame a father for bringing out his best jewels for his son’s wedding, after all?

Just as he was about to get to his feet and take those final steps to the Great Hall, the door opened again, this time without even a knock, and Findecáno entered. “Maitimo? Oh, thank Eru, there you are, Maitimo, I--” Findecáno fell silent though his mouth remained open as he simply stared. “Are those-- Oh, you’re beautiful…”

Findecáno was no less beautiful himself, in his layers of ornately embroidered wedding robes, his hair in intricate braids all shot through with fine gold ribbon. “What are you doing here?” Maitimo asked. “We ought to be getting to the feast.”

“Yes, I know, I just--I had to--” He took a deep breath. “Maitimo, there’s still time. We--you still have a chance. _Please_ , one time before it’s too late, tell me what _you_ want. Not for me, not for your father or your family, just for yourself and yourself alone. If you don’t want to do this--” the pain on his face when he said it was obvious, but he pressed on, “--if you’re only doing it for responsibility or--or politics, then please don’t.” Findecáno knelt at Maitimo’s feet, laying a hand on his knee, and looked up at him imploringly. “I’ll tell them it was my fault, that I was the one who couldn’t go through with it, none of the blame would be on you or your family. We can find some other way to keep everyone from fighting. But I will not let you sacrifice _your_ chance at happiness if I could have prevented it. So if you do not feel that way about me, if you have _any_ misgivings about marrying me, please just say so.”

Maitimo had been a fool this whole time. Findecáno was not like him, always scheming and maneuvering everything, including his own heart's desires, in order to get what he wanted. Findecáno was open and forthright. If he had doubts, he would have said so. He would hardly have been able to hide it. Instead he was here, on his knees, begging for Maitimo to let him in on what he was thinking, something Maitimo had never given him the courtesy of doing.

In fact, he thought he could see, in hindsight, what naive subterfuge all this confusion had driven Findecáno to over the last few weeks, and his heart swelled with affection. Maitimo was bold enough to gently stroke Findecáno’s hair. Findecáno’s breath hitched audibly, but he didn’t pull away. They were very nearly married, after all.

“Findecáno, I’m sorry I wasn’t more honest with you before. The truth is, I want _you_.” Fully opening his heart felt like stepping off a cliff, with no knowledge of where he would land. “I want you so much it frightens me. I feel like I have to protect you from the intensity of it all the time. You are the finest of all creations in Arda, and you do not fear me nearly enough. Findecáno, if you had any idea of the silver-lit imaginings that haunt my dreams--” Maitimo realized that his fingers had become thoroughly entangled in those raven-and-gold braids. He didn’t pull them free. “If I threw away everything I cherished of honor and morality, and blithely followed the whims of my heart, the Valar themselves could not stop me from possessing that which I treasure above all else. If that is love, then I love you, Findecáno, Eru help me.” He was trembling and he couldn’t stop himself.

“Well, that almost sounds like you _do_ want to marry me,” Findecáno replied, rather breathless.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You never have before, except when you’re being a huge idiot and don’t tell me things.” Findecáno leaned into Maitimo’s fingertips on his scalp and sighed. “If you don’t trust yourself, do you trust me to be able to handle you?”

“I--I want to--” he had to admit.

“You can’t spend your whole life not doing things because you’re afraid of what will happen, you know. Even--especially--important things like this. Look, if you ever do something that truly hurts me, I promise I will not just stand by and let it happen. Nor will my family, for that matter. Will that be enough?”

If it meant getting to spend every day with Findecáno, like this? He’d allowed himself to go too far down the road of temptation to turn back now, he feared. “If you _promise--”_

The door swung open unannounced once more. “Hey Maitimo, do you have any idea--” Irissë demanded as she entered. As soon as she saw them she threw up her hands and sighed in exasperation. “ _There_ you are, Findecáno! Manwe’s pinfeathers, you two, it's time to go! Can you not wait until _after_ the wedding feast to dp that?”

“Sorry,” Findecáno smiled as he got to his feet. “We’re coming, we’re coming.”

Maitimo curled a hand around his waist as they walked through the door. “Let’s get married.”

* * *

The joy of sitting here, surrounded by their family and friends at their _wedding_ and knowing that Maitimo loved him, was so great Findecáno almost couldn’t contain it all. Of course at the same time he could hardly wait for the feast to _end_ . His eye was continually drawn back to Maitimo, whose beauty in the light of the Silmarils was almost too much to bear. Findecáno wanted to touch him, _all_ of him, and had to be content for hours with occasionally clasping his hand under the table.

Fortunately or not, Findecáno’s impatience had no impact on the passage of time, which continued to crawl along inexorably, through courses and toasts and congratulatory speeches, until finally, _finally_ his father and mother were standing at his side, ready to guide him through the ceremony. Nervousness and excitement twisted up inside Findecáno’s chest until he found it hard to breathe.

“May the eye of Manwe witness this vow,” his father solemnly spoke the ancient words.

Findecáno prayed he would remember the oath correctly. “I, Findecáno, son of Ñolofinwë and Anairë, resolve hereby--” 

And then every window in the upper gallery of the hall exploded. 

For a moment he could see nothing and hear only screams. When the downpour of broken glass ceased and he could raise his head once more, two figures, each with the most noxious of auras, stood in the center of the hall. One was a creature unlike anything he had seen in all his travels, round-bodied and many-legged and somehow so unreal he could hardly comprehend its true shape; it seemed to suck all light toward itself.

The other was Melkor. He had traded the slight, inoffensive form with which he had poisoned Tirion for one imposing and armored. “It seems the Ñoldor have much to celebrate. Do I no longer merit an invitation?” 

Fëanáro leaped to his feet and strode toward the Vala without hesitation. “Get. Out.”

Melkor did not move. "Afraid I’m going to ruin your little party, Curufinwë? Have my siblings finally cowed you into playing ‘one big happy family’?”

A few of the braver guests began approaching cautiously from the sides and rear. Findecáno couldn’t quite regret that no one had worn a sword to his wedding, but it was a near thing.

“That is not your concern. You have no place here, and you never did,” Fëanáro replied, but he sounded less sure.

Findecáno caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He forced himself to keep his gaze forward, to not draw attention to Finwë pulling one of the cooks to his side, whispering something in her ear, and hurrying her out a side door.

“Hm. In truth, I’m almost surprised to see you here at all,” Melkor pressed on. “You spoke so often of striking out on your own, of freeing those who would be free of the Valar’s dominance. Should I congratulate you on finally finding a place of safety and comfort beneath their hands?”

Melkor’s words were getting under Fëanáro’s skin, even Findecáno could tell. He kept expecting Maitimo to intervene, to manage his father as he usually did, but didn’t blame him in this case for keeping quiet.

“One does what one must for the sake of one’s children,” Fëanáro replied. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

This time it was Melkor who was taken aback, though he barely let it crack his amiable facade. “But think of what we have to offer one another! With your creativity and my power, you need not limit yourself to what you might accomplish in this gilded cage.”

Fëanáro glanced around at those gathered near him. He didn’t seem to be wholly satisfied with what he saw.

When Fëanáro made no answer, Melkor continued, “Even now, if I might say so, you take a risk, displaying so openly your greatest treasures before those who might at any time demand their due rights.”

And Findecáno realized that Melkor was not looking at Fëanáro at all; the entire time he had been here, he had fixed his gaze directly and solely on Maitimo.

“Yes, a thief knows the mind of thieves,” Fëanáro hissed, now bereft of all hesitation. “And what are you but Mandos’s jail-crow, come to beg for scraps at the table of your betters? Begone!”

Melkor shook his head in mocking pity. “I had thought you wiser than this, Curufinwë.” Fëanáro’s lip curled; he seemed unperturbed at how all the friendliness had left Melkor’s demeanor. “No matter. I shall have my prize nonetheless.”

With speed almost too swift to follow, Melkor leaped at Maitimo. Findecáno didn’t even have to think before he interposed himself between them. Pain overwhelmed his entire being, probably because of the immense hand that had suddenly buried itself in his abdomen. 

Shouts and screams filled the hall; Findecáno felt a faint pride in his people, that more of them were rushing toward Melkor than away. They were not enough, however, to keep Melkor from pulling Findecáno inescapably into his grasp. He heard Maitimo cry out his name.

“You know what I want. Come and find me if you want this one returned,” Melkor rumbled. He mounted his arachnoid companion with Findecáno tight in his grip, and Findecáno bit back a cry of pain. The thing they rode scuttled straight up the wall and out a broken window. 

Findecáno had tried his best to protect the one he loved. Now had to use nearly all of his focus just to keep his body whole enough that his spirit didn’t depart completely as he was carried away. 

* * *

For the first few seconds, Maitimo could only stare in mute horror as Melkor stole the person who ought by now to have been his husband. When he could bring himself to move, he first pulled the chain bearing the cursed jewels from his brow and dropped them unceremoniously in his father’s hands. Then he forced his brain to stop wallowing in despair and start thinking of a plan.

“Fëanáro,” Ñolofinwë said hesitantly, “I could never ask you--”

“You could,” Anairë muttered, but made no further argument.

Maitimo shook his head. “There’s no point in negotiating. He has no reason not to betray us no matter how much we comply with his demands. We might as well just come at him with as much force as we can muster. Grandfather, you already sent someone to Valimar?”

“Yes,” Finwë answered. “Though the Valar...do not always act at the speed the Quendi consider prudent.”

“We can hope, then, but we shall not wait.” Maitimo still felt like he was trying to pull a tiny handful of coherent thoughts through an impenetrable web of grief and worry. “Why would he do this? Come straight to Valinor and start making demands when he’s already in trouble with the Aratar. He isn’t--well, he may not think like us, but he obviously understood us well enough to cause trouble. And right now he’s acting like he has some sort of advantage we don’t know about.” Normally he would do all this thinking in the privacy of his own head, but he didn’t have the emotional capacity right now. 

Tyelcormo was at his elbow, shifting anxiously. “If we go out there now, we might be able to see if we can track him or his...spider.” Maitimo nodded and started walking toward the nearest door as his mind continued to flail. 

“I need to get the Silmarils somewhere safe--if any such place still exists,” Fëanáro muttered. “And then hand out some swords.”

“I don’t know if force of arms will help,” said Maitimo, “but it’s better than nothing. Ñolofinwë, how many swords do you have access to?” Both sides had been secretive about that sort of detail in the past, but in a crisis like this, there was no reason to be dishonest.

“I’ve been encouraging people to retire them, or at least not keep them sharp, but I could name two hundred people at least who I know would be ready to fight at a moment’s notice. And that thing with him could climb walls like they were flat ground; bows might be of more use if it can get out of reach so easily. I’ll start sending messengers out.” He barely needed to nod at a number of the people following behind them, who hurried off to the task.

Huan met them with a resounding bark as soon as they exited the hall proper; Anairë had insisted on an absence of dogs at the wedding, but he had thankfully waited nearby. Once they exited into the great square, they had their first bit of good news. 

“Huan says the spider is leaving a pretty obvious scent trail,” Tyelcormo informed them. “They’re headed north.” For now, that was evident by any number of terrified citizens staring in that direction, but it would be helpful to know. 

They obtained horses from the palace stables that Ñolofinwë assured them were the fastest available, and set off. Ñolofinwë, Maitimo, Tyelcormo, and Irissë took the lead, with the rest of their siblings and a number of others following behind as quickly as they could make ready. Fëanáro agreed to catch up once his other tasks were completed.

Maitimo was not terribly surprised when, once they left the city, the trail led them up the coast outside the Pelori. At best, Melkor would feel more comfortable outside the walls of Valinor than within; at worst, he might be aiming to flee across the ocean entirely. Beyond that, Maitimo couldn’t predict what Melkor intended, and it maddened him. He could only hope that Melkor did not decide a live hostage was too much trouble before they could reach him. Or worse, that Findecáno’s suffering might be used against them.

“He can’t take his spirit,” Ñolofinwë murmured half to himself. “If he dies, Mandos will take his spirit.” That was almost certainly true, but no one knew the full extent of Mandos or Melkor’s power, and a splinter of doubt throbbed in Maitimo’s heart.

“They started to slow down around here, “ Tyelcormo informed them after hours of riding. As the party advanced, they began to feel the evil auras once more, stronger than ever. At last Melkor and his monstrous companion came into sight far up the shore. Ñolofinwë asked his horse for all the last of its strength, and sped toward them.

Maitimo followed at an urgent but not frantic gallop. He couldn’t claim to be an expert on the body language of an evil Vala and an abomination from beyond the Void. But they stood opposite each other now, each hunched and defensive, so that Maitimo would almost say they were having an argument. Melkor held Findecáno carelessly in one arm; Findecáno wasn’t moving, and blood soaked a dismayingly large area of his torn wedding robes. The Vala hissed something at the spider that Maitimo could barely make out even as they drew nearer. Were they speaking Valarin? Maitimo had never until now regretted begging off listening to his father’s analyses of that headache-inducing language. He needed to know what they were saying.

“The Valar are coming, right?” Irissë whispered as they rode. “We just--we just have to delay him. Make sure he doesn’t,” she squeezed her eyes shut and tears slipped down her cheeks, “do anything--.” She glanced up at her father, already far ahead of them. 

Maitimo glanced behind, at the expert archers and amateur sword-wielders catching up to them. Those were his resources. How could he prevent this from turning into a bloodbath?

Melkor didn’t even seem to notice their approach until they were nearly on top of him. “Spirit of malice!” Ñolofinwë roared. “Dark enemy of the world, return my son to me or face my wrath!” 

“What have you brought? An army?” Melkor sneered, taking in the force arrayed against him. “Hunters of beasts and half-trained children playing at war?”

Huan growled but stayed his attack, waiting for Tyelcormo’s command. Maitimo nudged his shuddering horse forward to Ñolofinwë’s side. He intended to say something confident that hinted at a willingness to negotiate while promising nothing, but what came out was a desperate, “Is he still alive?”

Melkor glanced down at Findecáno as if just now realizing he was still there. To Maitimo’s sick horror, Melkor then roughly jostled Findecáno until he cried out, a wordless croak of pain. “For now,” Melkor replied. “Do you expect me to believe that your father has entrusted you to barter in his place, that you are authorized to give me what I desire? Or do you think to intimidate me with _force_ ,” a disdaining laugh. “Or perhaps you have not actually come to treat in good faith at all? Will you keep what is yours and take what is mine both? Have you no honor?”

“ _Monster_ ,” Irissë breathed and shifted as if to charge, but Maitimo gripped her forearm, pleading with her to wait. To his relief, she heeded him. “Thief! Worthless scum! _Give him back_!” she yelled fruitlessly.

Melkor seemed to have realized he could get a reaction out of them and prodded Findecáno’s wound more deliberately this time. Findecáno moaned, struggled weakly and briefly opened his eyes, meeting Maitimo’s for one second.

“Take me instead,” Maitimo offered, with no plan as he spoke except to make Findecáno’s suffering stop. “My father doesn’t care a whit about that one,” he had no idea if that was true or not and he didn’t care, “you’ll have much more leverage over him if you’ve taken his eldest son, he’ll do anything you want,” that definitely wasn’t true but he lied without a second thought, “please, just let him go, just stop and I’ll come willingly, _please--_ ”

Findecáno’s lips formed the word “ _Don’t--_ ” even as he shuddered in pain. Maitimo held his breath as Melkor paused in his torment of Findecáno, looking Maitimo over appraisingly. The only fear Maitimo felt was that he hadn’t made a convincing enough offer.

“Enough, Nelyafinwë. You needn’t make any more promises you can’t keep.” His father’s voice rang out from behind them. “This is what you want, yes?” Maitimo glanced behind him and, to his utter amazement, Fëanáro held a single Silmaril between his fingers. Surely he didn’t mean to simply trade his greatest treasure for Findecáno’s life? Maitimo wouldn’t have expected him to do so for one of his own sons’ lives, or their mother’s, or possibly even _his own_ mother’s or _anyone’s_.

Melkor didn’t speak immediately in response, though he did drop Findecáno. Maitimo's stomach lurched when he heard the noise Findecáno made upon hitting the ground, but he forced himself to remain still. 

“You are wiser than I expected, Curufinwë--” Melkor began. Then the spider hissed something through its clicking mandibles and began to advance. Melkor yanked at its carapace and answered back in that awful language.

Fëanáro called out in the same tongue, which Maitimo swore no Elven throat could actually produce, but stood his ground as the spider made its way toward him and his shining treasure.

And moments before it reached him, the hulking spider was slammed aside in a massive blur of gold accompanied by a laughing warcry. At nearly the same instant, Melkor dodged aside as a mighty spear flew straight at his chest.

“Huan, go!” Tyelcormo shouted over the blast of a hunting horn, and the hound leapt for Melkor’s throat as Tyelcormo charged in beside him wielding only a table knife .

Was this it, their moment of eucatastrophe? Had his wild plan succeeded? Maitimo took two breaths, then dismounted and strode into the chaos, straight toward where Findecáno lay. He was dimly aware of Ñolofinwë laying an acknowledging hand on his shoulder before splitting off to join the fight. 

Maitimo knelt and frantically tried to remember what he’d been taught about treating someone as badly hurt as this. He knew he could cause more damage if he went about things the wrong way. He braced one hand along Findecáno’s neck and gently rolled him face-up, mourning but not flinching when Findecáno once more cried out.

Findecáno looked up at him, though his eyes didn’t seem fully focused. “I’m here, Findecáno, I’ve got you, you’re safe, please don’t try to move,” Maitimo talked steadily as he checked Findecáno for other wounds. Aside from a few careless scrapes on his face and hands, Melkor didn’t appear to have inflicted any more damage beyond that hideous gut wound. Findecáno had been strong and healthy before, but Maitimo didn’t know how much longer he might survive; he was leaking blood and other fluids at an alarming rate.

Should he cover it? Clean it? Damn it, he was not a healer and his ought-to-be-husband was dying in his arms.

“I saw Tyelco get gored by an angry boar once,” Irissë was kneeling down next to him, “you need to put pressure on it and hold it until someone who knows what they’re doing gets to him.” She sounded confident, but when he turned to look at her he could see the tension around her eyes and the sweat sheening her face.

Maitimo helped Irissë rip up layers of luxurious fabric, press them into Findecáno’s abdomen, and then tie them securely in place. Her hands worked unhesitatingly, despite her brother’s soft moans of anguish.

Once they had done what they could, Maitimo looked around to try to assess what was happening around them. Were they safe for the moment or was it necessary to risk moving?

Tulkas was still wrestling the spider, although it appeared to be short at least one leg, and a few well-prepared Noldor were helping him to secure it with ropes. Most of the rest of the army was between Maitimo and Melkor, obscuring his view. But when he took the chance to stand, he saw in the distance Ñolofinwë harrying Melkor, and Orome astride Nahar herding him toward the menacing sea.

They didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger. Maitimo knelt back down, and held Findecáno’s hand, and waited.


	5. The Gift

Findecáno had to sift through the memories of doing quite a lot of foolish, dangerous things over the years before he figured out why he had woken up in so much pain _this_ time. Melkor. The wedding. An interminable, torturous journey along the coast. The last thing he remembered was being helpless to stop Maitimo from offering himself up instead. No--after that he vaguely recalled a familiar radiance and quite a lot of noise as well.

Well, now he was in a well lit room and a warm, comfortable bed, so things probably hadn’t gone too badly. He ran a hand over his heavily bandaged midsection, and immediately regretted it, _ow_. His mouth and his eyes, when he tried to open them, were both annoyingly dry. Eventually, he was able to make out that he was in his own bedroom in Tirion, and Maitimo was half-asleep in a chair near his bed.

“Hey--” he croaked, and that alone was far more difficult than it ought to be. 

Maitimo’s eyes snapped open and he was leaning toward Findecáno at an alarming speed, but checked himself before making what would have been a painful impact. “How do you feel?” Maitimo asked as he filled a nearby cup and helped gently trickle a few blessed drops of water into Findecáno’s mouth.

“Everything hurts. My stomach hurts _a lot_.”

“Sorry. The healers wouldn’t give you any drugs until they knew whether you’d wake up. I can--” He moved as if to leave the room.

“Wait--” Fortunately his feeble voice was enough to call Maitimo back to him. “Want to talk to you. Did we win?”

Maitimo smiled a little. “Yes, I think it’s safe to say we did. That spider thing scuttled off; Orome and a few of my brothers are still hunting it down. But they captured Melkor.”

“They put him back in prison?”

“I think they’re still debating--you know how it is with the Valar. The proper thing to do obviously isn’t ‘nothing’, since we saw how well that worked out, but on the other hand, he didn’t actually kill anyone this time.” Maitimo had evidently been trying to make a joke, but his voice cracked as he spoke, and he swallowed heavily.

“Oh, could I get him in more trouble if I die? Because--”

“Don’t,” Maitimo ordered, dropping any trace of humor.

“Well, in that case,” he paused until Maitimo helped him take another sip of water, “promise me you won’t get captured by Melkor either. Don’t think I didn’t hear you back there.” 

“It's unlikely to come up again, I hope, but--I promise. Unless it’s extremely important.”

“Not ever.” He ought to stop talking, it was starting to seriously hurt, but with Maitimo here, it was all he wanted to do. “I don’t think I could muster a small army to rescue you as fast as you did for me. I’d have to go all by myself, and that sounds very hard.”

“I’ll at least wait until you’re walking again.”

“You must love me so much.” Maitimo squeezed his hand. Findecáno did his best to squeeze back. One thing still disappointed him, though. “We didn’t actually get married. We didn’t even say the oaths.”

“We’ll have to postpone it for a few weeks, that’s all.” He paused. “That is if you still--”

“Stop. I can’t punch you for being an idiot and you’re making me really want to. Didn’t we have this discussion already?”

“Your rescue--particularly what my father did--should be enough evidence for anyone that the Ñoldor are prepared to put aside old grievances. We don’t _have_ to get married.”

“You just rescued me from the most powerful being in Arda and you expect me not to marry you?”

“It...doesn’t make you obligated.”

“Daring rescues are how _I_ say ‘I love you’ I don’t know about you.”

“That’s not logical, even if I loved you more than existence itself--which I do--it still doesn’t mean…” He gave up and just sighed. 

Findecáno grinned up at him as wide as he could. “You should tell me you love me more. I don’t think I’ve heard it nearly often enough yet.”

“I love you, Findecáno.” Findecáno could drown in the tenderness that filled Maitimo’s eyes. “But the healers don’t want you attempting anything, ah, physically strenuous for at least three weeks, and your mother is still debating whether to use the palace hall even with all the windows blown out or to find another venue, and my father has disappeared into his workshop again for Eru knows what reason, so...we have time. To think about things. And if you still want to… I think I’d rather have you with me where I can protect you than try and push you away any longer.”

“I’d like that too.”

* * *

Fëanáro hated admitting when he was wrong.

And as far as ‘being wrong’ went, this one was enormous. It spanned long-years and dredged the depths of his most foundational emotions. Changing his course on this matter was one of the hardest things he would ever have to do.

But only a poor scientist indeed ignored the evidence in front of them. And Eru be damned, helping to save Ñolofinwë’s son, working together for a common goal, even risking his most precious jewel to do so--it had felt _good_. He hadn’t realized how much it had gnawed at him, hanging onto that suspicion, that resentment. All of a sudden he was surrounded by his family, receiving their praise and their thanks. Nerdanel was talking to him again, the slightest concession on his part matched by an ocean of understanding. He found it difficult to remind himself why the grudges he’d held onto were so important.

It was entirely possible that this was just an emotional whim that he was allowing himself to be carried off by until reality came crashing back in on him. But...he didn’t think so. He’d held his ground for so long for his mother’s sake, or so he’d told himself. But he didn’t think she would have wanted this.

Melkor wanted him to hate Ñolofinwë, to turn them against each other for his own ends. And while foolishness reversed did not always wisdom make, he had to entertain the idea that doing the opposite might be better for both of them. Not surrender. Not capitulation. But perhaps more cooperation, more trust. He’d seen that succeed enough to try it a little longer.

And Maitimo--he’d never looked so happy, so utterly content, as he had at the wedding, before Melkor arrived. He’d never looked as devastated as when Findecáno was in danger. Fëanáro knew well the feeling of finding the one who fit with you so neatly that you couldn’t imagine life without them, although he wouldn’t have necessarily guessed it would be _that_ person for his son. In any case, Fëanáro couldn’t claim to love his son as much as he did if he couldn’t support him in this.

No one would believe it, though, unless he found some way to show it. Fëanáro thought he might actually die if he tried to verbally apologize to anyone. He would fall back on what he did best--making something.

He gathered thread and fabric and everything he would need and closed himself away in his workshop. No need to let on what he was doing until it was complete to his satisfaction. He would need to work quickly. Findecáno was already pestering the healers about being recovered enough for the exertion of a marriage.

He’d neglected his needlework skills for many years. He hoped they would be enough.

* * *

Maitimo was not surprised that Findecáno held everyone exactly to the three-week promise, even if the healers still had doubts about how ready he was. Their wedding night would simply have to be a gentle one.

They ended up holding their second attempt at a wedding outdoors in the great square outside the palace, under the mingled lights of the Trees. Everything was a bit more casual and less stately this time. The decorations were whatever could be rescued and reused from the previous attempt. The wedding clothes were perhaps not as nice as the ones now shredded and covered in blood. Fëanáro had not offered to unveil the Silmarils again, and Maitimo had not asked.

But the food was excellent and the wine flowed freely, and he had his beloved by his side. They skipped through many of the speeches and formalities this time. Everyone had already heard them once, Findecáno could only stay upright for so long, and nobody felt like tempting fate. With their parents at their side, Maitimo and Findecáno swore to take each other as spouse for all the life of Arda, and exchanged golden rings. Maitimo was surprised to discover that he could actually feel the energy of the incipient marriage bond flowing between them.

But before he could complete enough additional social niceties that he felt comfortable grabbing Findecáno by the hand and running off, Fëanáro stood, looking prepared to speak. Maitimo had barely seen his father once or twice in the past few weeks and had no idea what he might be up to. His heart sank, thinking back to the fiasco of the betrothal feast. He knew today had been too perfect to be allowed. He braced himself to clean up after whatever was to come.

“Maitimo, Findecáno , I…” Fëanáro began, looking at each of them in turn, and then stopped. He actually appeared hesitant. Nervous, even. In his hands, he held something wrapped in dark cloth. “You’ve done something magnificent, finding love where no one would have expected it to grow. You built a bridge where everyone around you was trying to burn them,” he swallowed, “myself not the least.”

Was his father...admitting his own fault? _Apologizing_?

Maitimo couldn’t quite bring himself to trust this, but subterfuge and flattery had never been his father’s style, not when cleverness and craft could be relied on. He could only continue to listen, breath bated.

“I thought to fashion a symbol of your union, of our families’ union. Of going forward as...equals…” the word sounding nearly as if it had to be dragged from his throat, “and creating a new future together.” He offered his cloth-wrapped bundle to Maitimo.

Maitimo took it and carefully folded it open.

“I have, of course, spared no skill in its creation, although given the constraints of time, you will forgive me if there is any flaw in it. I simply thought that the medium would be appropriate, given what it symbolizes.” He sounded defensive, but proud as ever.

What lay before Maitimo when he had unfolded it was a banner, on which a heraldic seal in myriad shimmering colors was embroidered. Of course--his father professed to be ready to reconcile, but he would never let any of them forget who his mother was or how much respect she was due. 

“That’s amazing,” Findecáno murmured. He wasn’t wrong. When examined with a trained eye, the device was revealed to be a masterful blending of those of Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë’s houses, with its own unique artistry. It did indeed mark them as equals, forgers of their own, new house of princes.

Maitimo still felt a bit on edge, but only because he had never seen his father this desperate for approval over something he had created. He supposed it must have happened at some point, long before he was born, but all the ego and self-satisfaction that normally accompanied such a presentation was absent. He doubted anyone else noticed, but he certainly did. Not only did Fëanáro have doubts as to how this gift would be received, he wasn’t even sure, from a crafting standpoint, whether it was any good. It was a disturbing sight to see.

Maitimo did the only thing possible. He walked over and tightly embraced his father. “Thank you,” he whispered. “We might not have gotten him back without your help. I know how hard it must have been. Thank you so much.” Maitimo didn’t mind giving his father as much gratitude as he could for the smallest of steps. No one else had to, but he always would.

Still, it seemed that quite a few others, now gathered around and admiring the banner, had complimentary things to say. Ñolofinwë looked as touched as anyone--this gesture meant a lot to him as well. Anairë seemed warier, but was willing to take the offer for what it was. Carnistir leaned in and peered at the stitching, offering his customary unvarnished opinion which he did not gild even for his father. Fortunately, it was wholly positive.

“Everyone’s distracted,” Findecáno murmured as near to Maitimo’s ear as he could reach. “Do you think they’ll notice if we disappear?”

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” Maitimo replied, and couldn’t wait until they had made it five steps away before pulling Findecáno into a tantalizing kiss.


End file.
